The Billionaire's Regret, The Heiress's Revenge

I knew my husband, Alessandro De Luca, was the Don of the most powerful Famiglia on the East Coast. What I didn't know was that our five-year marriage was built on another woman's grave.

On our anniversary, I found his hidden safe. The code wasn't our wedding date or our birthdays. It was August 14th—the day his first love, Isabella, lost her family.

Inside was a shrine to her: photos, dried flowers, and a love letter promising her a "castle in the clouds." There was nothing of me, not a single trace of the five years I'd given him. When he found me, he crushed her locket in his fist and threw it all into the fireplace. "Are you done now?" he asked, as if my heartbreak was a tantrum.

He offered a trip to Sicily to "fix" this, then sneered that I had nothing without his name or money. But it was worse than that. He brought Isabella back, gave her my position at the charity I built, and paraded her at our annual gala, publicly claiming her as his own.

He humiliated me in front of our entire world, siding with her after she staged a scene to make me look jealous and unhinged. He roared at me, "Caterina, what the hell is your problem?" while he comforted her.

So I showed him. I walked over, poured a glass of champagne over his head in front of everyone, and said, "That is my problem."

Then I walked out of the ballroom, out of his life, and sent him the separation papers. This wasn't a fight for his love anymore. It was war.